


Need

by frannyzooey



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frannyzooey/pseuds/frannyzooey
Summary: Post mission, Frankie needs you.
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales & Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Need

_“I need you.”_

Frankie’s husky voice sounded tired, almost slurred over the phone and you close your eyes with a deep sigh, relief flooding through you as you rolled over in bed, staring the dark ceiling. 

“Where are you? You said you’d only be gone for the weekend, said –”

“I know what I said”, he replies, and you hear the rustle of bedding as he shifts position. Hotel bed and not a hospital, you hope. “I need you. Can you come?”

You say nothing, a strange swirl of anger, frustration and relief churning in your stomach, a small dash of lust at the sound of his sleepy voice. You hear him breathing on the other end of the line, the slow, comforting sound of it and you want nothing more than rest your cheek on his chest like you do in bed; the same steady breathing lulling you to sleep.

Reaching to click the small bedside lamp on, you dig in the drawer for a pen and paper and he can hear the fumbling, a smile spreading on his face as he pictures you on your side of the bed, probably wearing the same old t-shirt of his that you always wear. 

“Where are you?”, you ask, pen in hand, ready to write. He tells you the name of the city, of the hotel and you scribble all the details down.

“I’ll come in the morning”, you reassure him, clicking the light off again. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

\--

Almost a seven-hour flight to Peru, you have plenty of time to think (not that you needed more time in your own head after waiting to hear from him for days) about Frankie. He didn’t tell you what happened, didn’t even tell you if he was hurt and as you stare out the window of the plane, you think he must be if he needs you.

You brought a book, a small dogeared paperback with you to pass the time but it lays face down on the tray table; your finger gently tracing the edge over and over. He never should have gone on this stupid mission, never should have even entertained the idea and you remember the fight you had with him before he left, telling him so.

His face already looked so _tired_ when he told you he was going and when you followed him into the bedroom to watch him pack, you could tell by the set of his features that he was determined, that he had already made up his mind.

_“You told me you were done with this shit”, you say, coming closer to reach for his hand, stilling it against the zipper of the duffle. “You weren’t gonna do it anymore.”_

_“I know”, he replies quietly, looking up at you. “But I have to do this.”_

_“You don’t have to do anything!”, you shout, mad at yourself already for losing your temper but you remembered the stories he had told you; the heavy weight of his arm draped across your stomach at night as he unburdened himself and his eyes had looked into yours, inky black in the dark room when he promised he was done before pulling himself up for a kiss._

_“You don’t understand. They need me.” He steps back from you, resuming his packing and when you follow him down the hallway and towards the front door, you catch a glimpse of Santi’s truck outside in the driveway._ **_You_ ** _needed him, but you weren’t gonna say that now – now you were pissed._

_“I cannot believe you weren’t even gonna ask. Weren’t even gonna talk about it with me.” Gesturing outside, you look at him in disbelief and his face is begging you to understand, to not let him leave like this, but you are too hurt. “I guess you better go. They’re waiting for you.”_

_You look at him, your stony face trying not to crumple, and he clutches the handle of the bag in his fist, looking at you for a long moment. Too mad to realize he is studying your face, memorizing it for those cold nights he knows he’s going to spend in his tent, you shift your eyes to the floor, willing away the hot tears flooding into them right now._

_“I’m sorry, baby”, he says, turning towards the front door. “I’ll call you when I can and let you know I’m okay.”_

But he didn’t call – not the first night, nor the third, nor the fifth and with each passing night, you couldn’t decide if you were more angry or scared. The sixth night was when he called and when you saw his name flash on your screen, you felt a hot rush of anger until you heard his voice. 

Scared, you decided. You had definitely been more scared.

\--

You see him before you step out of the taxi; the light blue of his shirt peeking through the crowds of people as he stands in front of his hotel, waiting for you. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he leans against the front of the building, his eyes scanning the passing cars. He smiles when he sees you, the tug of his lips a little sheepish as he is unsure what reception he is going to get but when you throw yourself at him, his arms circle you tight, crushing you to him.

Pulling back to press your lips against his, you inhale and savor his familiar smell, your fingers threading into those soft curls that you love, and you think about the cut he has on his face, wondering if he is hurt anywhere else. It’s late in the day, just around dinner time but you aren’t hungry, and you tell him so as he leads you upstairs.

“I –“, he starts when he closes the door of his hotel room and you cut him off with another kiss, this one more urgent than the one you gave him downstairs.

“Let’s talk about it later”, you mumble against his lips, your fingers trailing down to work open the buttons on his shirt. “I need to take a shower. Will you join me?” You pull back to look at him, your hand reaching up to trace your thumb over the cut on his cheekbone and he nods, turning his face to press a kiss to your palm.

\--

The shower is hot, maybe too hot and it washes away the grime and the sweat from traveling as you skim your hands over his solid body; inspecting, memorizing, soothing - both him and yourself. A few deep bruises on that golden skin you love, a couple more shallow cuts, but nothing serious. He closes his eyes and lets you look, his own fingers itching to touch your skin but he knows you need this right now, so he waits until he can’t wait anymore.

Your back is pressed against the cool tiles, your leg thrown over his firm shoulder as he kneels in front of you on the floor and you aren’t sure if it’s the humid heat that’s making you lightheaded or if it’s what his mouth is doing between your thighs.

It’s like he’s starved for you the way he eats you, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place against his eager mouth and you curl your fingers into his damp hair, tipping your head back with a moan when you tell him you’re going to come.

“ _Please_ ”, you beg, your strained voice echoing in the small space and he lets out a deep groan into your pussy, the flat of his tongue licking a broad stripe to gather your slick before gliding the tip of it over your clit; again, again, again.

This is what he thought about at night in his tent, the way you cry out for him, the way you taste, the way you beg so sweetly and when you come into his mouth, he drinks down every drop; your thighs trembling under his palms.

\--

“What happened?”

It’s late, the two of you curled into each other in bed and the city is still alive outside; the window cracked to let in a small breeze, the sounds of street floating in with it.

“I can’t tell you everything”, he murmurs, his head resting on your chest, his lips catching against your skin when he speaks. You curl a strand of his hair around your finger and wait.

“The mission—“, he begins, clearing his throat as his arms squeeze you tighter, “ – the whole thing went wrong. I can’t – I can’t tell you what we were doing, but it didn’t go to plan. We ended up stranded, had to hike for miles after I crashed the helicopter – “

“You _what_?”, you startle, forcing his chin up to look at you and he winces, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“Yea – I crashed it.” He sounds so defeated, a look of frustration flashing across his face in the dim room and you have so many more questions, but the one you settle on is the most important.

“Were you okay? _Are_ you okay?” You survey his face, he’s clearly surprised that you aren’t pushing him right now for more details and the tension he was holding in his back and shoulders lets go, his heavy weight pressing you into the bed.

“Yea, I’m okay. Everyone is okay.” He pauses, his eyes going slightly unfocused as he remembers. “Well, not everyone.”

A small frown creases your brow, confused by the statement and when he tells you about Tom, you cover your hand with your mouth in disbelief.

“ _Oh Frankie_ ”, you whisper, pulling him up and into your arms and he settles himself between your legs, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. Splaying your hands across his broad shoulders, you hold him tight, your legs winding around his hips to hold him even closer. His hands grip you tightly, your nose sliding into his hair to inhale his scent and he burrows into your heat, into your embrace.

“That could have easily been me. I could have died and –” and when you try to shake your head, he reaches up, spanning the sides of your head with his broad hands to hold you in place.

“No, I wanna tell you something. Are you listening?” His voice is quietly urgent, deep in the dark room and you stay silent, cupping his hand in yours.

“I shouldn’t have gone. I should have listened to you.” He frowns in frustration; at himself or at trying to find the right words, you don’t know. “I could have died and all – all I could think about is how I would never see you again. How much I wanted to. How much I would have done anything to get back home to you.” He pauses, looking away for a moment. “How much I _did_ do just to get home to you.”

He brings his gaze back to you, his eyes locked on yours as he continues. “I’ll never leave again. I promise. I know I promised the last time and I’m sorry, but I really mean it. I love you. I love you so much and I –”

He stops talking, pulling your face to his for a kiss and it’s like he doesn’t have the words to say everything he wants to, so he’s going to communicate it to you this way instead. His mouth open wide against yours, his tongue licking deep, his hands grip and hold you in place while he kisses you, his nose fitting against yours as he sighs into it with a soft grunt.

His skin is feverish against yours, his heavy body pressing you into the soft bedding as he rocks into you and you feel the heft of his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh; the tip of him leaking already.

“I need to fuck you”, he pleads into your mouth, in between kisses. “I need to be inside you.”

You nod frantically, needing the same thing, needing it since before he left and every night since and when he lines himself up, you whimper at the blunt press of it, heavy and thick before he pushes into you. He breaks the kiss to cry out at the tight, wet squeeze of your pussy, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out and smoothly gliding back in with a stretch and you hitch your legs higher on his torso, forcing him deeper.

“I’m sorry”, he pants, apologizing both for what he did and for the rough stroke inside you that makes you reach up to brace yourself against the headboard. “I can’t – I can’t be gentle. I don’t think I can stop.”

“ _Don’t stop, don’t stop_ ”, you moan, your eyes closing tight as he picks up his pace and his hand snakes under your shoulder, curling his fingers over the curve of it from behind for leverage. His other hand fists the sheets, the cool fabric twisting in his grip as he fucks you and he puts the weight of his body behind the heavy thrusts, needing to be inside you as deep as he can.

“Is this how you like to get fucked?”, he asks, breathless and strained and pleading and you tell him _yes; only he does it like this, only he knows how you like it._

It could have been him – he could have died in that helicopter or on that hillside or in those mountains and his thrusts get harsher, deeper, more frenzied as he pushes away the thought, desperate to forget. He would have never seen you again – never seen the smile that lights across your face, never heard your laugh, never laid next to you in bed at night – and he drops his forehead down against your flushed chest, sucking at the swell of your breast.

“Tell me”, he gasps, licking at your sweat damp skin, “tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels so good, Frankie; you – “ a hiss at another hard thrust, “ – you always feel so good. My pussy felt so empty while you were gone. So wet, waiting for you to come back and fuck me in our bed.”

“Yea”, he asks, looking up from your chest, “Did you think about me fucking you in our bed while I was gone?”

“ _Yes_ ”, you moan, tipping your head back into the pillow as he hooks his arm under your knee, opening you wider for him before drawing your nipple into his hot mouth, nipping at the peak of it before sucking hard. “I thought about how you like me to sit on your face. How you like to come in my mouth sometimes.”

He groans deep in agreement, moving onto your other breast and you continue.

“But mostly I thought about how you fuck me like this. How hard I like it.”

He looks up, a breathless smile stretching his cheeks and you try not to think about the cut there, how it must be pulling tight against his skin when he smiles like that. He is so deep inside of you, filling you so completely and you want it even harder, want him to kneel on the bed while he throws your legs over his shoulders to pound into you, but you also don’t want him to leave your arms. Not now; not ever.

“Make me come, Frankie”, you ask, pushing his damp curls back from his face, holding his gaze with yours. “Make me come and then take me home.”

He whimpers at your words, his eyes closing with a frown as he tries not to come and he drops his weight back onto you, his plush lips pressing against yours to open your mouth. 

He needed you when he called you, needs you now, has always needed you and his chest fills with emotion at how you dropped everything to come to his side. Resting his forehead against yours, his hot pants ghost across your lips as he slows to a deep grind, his hips rocking, rocking, rocking. He feels your body tense under his, your slick warmth squeezing him tight as you bear down on his cock and he can tell you are going to come; your moans sliding into soft whimpers as he grinds into you.

_This_ is what he wanted the most – to feel you like this, right before you come. It’s all he could think about in his tent at night, all he wanted, all he’s ever wanted. You are so open for him like this - your eyes and your heart and your legs and his wants to stay here forever; never wants to it to stop, but he also knows he can never last long when you squeeze him tight like this. 

His cock swelling inside you, he is gonna come soon, the ache spreading through his belly and hips, his balls tightening when you tell him you’re coming and he fucks you through it; spilling inside you after a half a dozen more strokes.

Finally, _finally_ he is safe, cradled between your legs and in your arms; cradled by the soothing touch of your hands on his skin, your love. 

“Okay, baby”, he says, trying to catch his breath, his lips brushing against yours, his mustache tickling your skin. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
